Chapter 1 : In Which Death Is The Beginning

Lady Angelique Pergam of Lownburry put down the book she had been reading and blew out the candle. The low fire in the hearth became the only source of light in the room. She tried to flatten a few wrinkles in her gown, then gave up and slipped her feet into her satin slippers, rising from the cushioned window seat. She turned her head toward the bed where Harlock lay sleeping and sighed, lifting her skirts as she began tiptoeing past. She had waited too long and now she would have to wait until tomorrow to tell him.

Even though she knew he would wake before she left the room; he always did. He would always open his eyes and wish her good night. He knew why she had to leave and he never asked her to stay, he never expected her to.

She passed the bed and crossed the room; reaching the door – and nothing, he still hadn't even stirred. She stopped and turned, glancing quizzically at his sleeping form. Had she moved so quietly this time that he didn't hear her leaving? It was perfectly plausible, and yet unexpected. Still on her toes, she took a few steps back into the room, approaching the foot of the bed.

Not the slightest sign of waking. She decided she would leave, but before that she craned her neck to have a closer look at his face. He seemed different somehow. Even though she had seen him sleeping so many times, this time he seemed defenceless. The pallor of his skin was a tad pale – perhaps he was ill?

She had never heard of great magicians becoming ill. Allowing her skirts to fall to the floor she hurried round to the side of the bed. She brushed a stray lock of dark hair from his forehead, expecting his eyelids to flicker, but they did not. She touched the back of her hand to his cheek, checking for fever, but his face was cold.

She looked down to his chest and then back at his face. She put her hand under his nose. Her eyes widened, and she leaned in, bringing her ear to his mouth, straining, straining to hear.

"Harlock." She gave him a little shake and quickly straightened up, stepping away, crossing her arms over her chest. She stood there, unmoving, and stared until her eyes became dry and she had to blink.

"Harlock," she said loudly, daringly. She stretched out her arm and placed her hand on his shoulder, shaking him again. "Harlock!" Her eyes welled with tears and she clasped her hands over her mouth. What was she to do? What could she do?

"Help me!" she shouted, lifting her skirt and rushing out of the room. She ran through the complex of rooms that made up his apartment and out into the corridor. "Help me!" she shrieked at the top of her lungs, her voice high, like a banshee's cry. She tried running forward, but accidentally dropped her skirts, tripping on them and falling to the floor.

Someone helped her sit, a young maidservant in a white frock with chubby-fingered hands. "Milady?"

Angelique looked up into the woman's tender brown eyes. "He isn't breathing," she said, horrified, tears blurring her vision and spilling down her cheeks.

The servant's face was blank, "Who, milady?"

"Cooper. He's not... I, I, I had t-to leave because Morilla would, would have worried and I – I thought he was asleep. He isn't breathing. He's not breathing. He's not – " A sharp sob cut her words off, closing her voice inside her chest and wracking her entire body.

The servant looked over her shoulder at some men who were standing behind her. Others had heard the commotion and had come. They hurried past Angelique and the servant, through the doors she had left ajar.

"There now," the servant said, collecting Angelique into her arms in a comforting embrace. "He's just toying with you. Cooper has that sort of sense of humour. You know how magicians are; they can make you believe things that aren't true."

How she wished she could believe the maidservant's kindly words, but she continued to weep on the girl's shoulder until her blouse was soaked with tears.

Another servant, a man, walked out of Cooper's chambers. Angelique lifted and turned her tear-streaked face. He looked at her, stunned, and then crouched on the floor beside her.

Other men came rushing past them, running urgently down the corridor. "Milady," he said softly, "let us help you to your room."

"Is he...?" she breathed out. He did not even attempt to answer her question; he simply looked at her in sorrow.

Within minutes, like wildfire, the news spread throughout the palace. Within moments the night was ablaze with the words, echoing throughout the halls, the stairways and towers.

The great Harlock Cooper, the pride and joy of the Kingdom:

Dead.

A/N - Throughout the book, I'm going to be dedicating chapters to commenters. This one is dedicated to my dear friend @stpolishook for her particularly observant comment. Also, check out her epic fantasy book "A Dangerous Destiny" if you're looking for well-rounded characters and a refreshing plot